Hyun and I were on the D.C. mall when the tourists appeared.

You could tell by their jeans. Denim trends are too subtle, and tourists never get them right. Theirs were too high-waisted.

“TOURISTS!”

We sprinted toward Independence Ave. Other locals noticed and stampeded.

Tourists only appear for two things: the uplifting moments and the horrible ones. And nothing big was supposed to happen that day.

Of course, all the time travelers–jeans not right, faces eager, hands in their pockets to hit their return buttons at just the right instant–knew different.

Behind us, the first bomb went off.

Author’s Note: We know that humans will never invent time travel because history reports no instances of weirdly dressed yokels hanging out at, say, the birth of Christ. …OR DOES IT?

Categories: Fiction, KJ Kabza | 3 Comments »

When I finally found, and fell in love with, another telepath, our connection became indescribably deep. Forget finishing sentences–we finished each other’s thoughts. Experienced each other’s emotions.

Gained each other’s talents.

I could now cook bibimbap, rebuild diesel engines, and knit mittens for people I loved. She could now discuss the works of German philosophers, tend a vegetable garden, and hack networks. She got my abstract knowledge; I got her clever hands and her, herself. The jackpot.

But I did not get her cancer.

When your lover dies, they say half of you is gone.

You have no idea.

Author’s Note: We’ve all read stories with ominous telepathic characters who “read your thoughts,” but what might an average telepath in love feel?

Categories: Fiction, KJ Kabza | 2 Comments »